


inhale and hold the evening

by snsk



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, F/F, Fluff, Girl Direction, and they win oscars!, genderswap AU, girl!Harry, girl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry composes music. louis is making a movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inhale and hold the evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoadedGunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoadedGunn/gifts).



> 1) a big big thank you to harlequinnd for looking over this and making it so much better i love you so much, fanficloverme96 for being up so early, and child for my awful spelling oh my god
> 
> 2) all other mistakes are entirely my own and my research on film composing/directing consists of bts specials and a wikipedia page so i apologise in advance
> 
> 3) merry christmas loadedgunn!!!!! oh my god your top model/amazing race au are among my all-time faves in this fandom i love your writing have a great christmas thank you for making this fandom so much brighter :)

:::

The earth hasn't quite woken up yet  the day that Harry meets Louis. Everything still frosted over in most places, sleepy-stiff from hibernation. 

Harry knows the feeling. She's looking at the slightest hint of life on the pavement, from a stubborn weed-like maybe-plant possibly-fungi pushing through. She's cheering it on silently. Someone has to be the first to tell spring it's time to kiss the sun good morning, make it all bright green and grass-smelling again. 

Not that London is ever bright green, much less grass-smelling, but Harry is a composer. She likes metaphors and hopeless dreams.

So she's waiting for her bus, crouched over in the middle of the pavement, which to be honest isn't the greatest idea. That doesn't excuse the girl stumbling into her, saying, "Oof!" and then, as white sheets, sharply-edged papers, come tumbling around Harry from above, "Jesus, mate, what are you doing in the middle of-- you do know people walk here, right?"

Harry frowns. Yeah, bending down on the middle of a walkway to cheer on a tiny weed in a crack wasn't genius, but the girl could've avoided her if she'd been looking at where she was going. And she hadn't, kneeing Harry right in the side quite impressively. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says automatically, anyway. Niall always says she should learn to curse at rude strangers more. Harry is trying, she really is. "I've more than paid for it, anyway," she says, passive-aggressively working it, look at me now Niall, "you got me quite hard." 

Which, what?  Harry can feel Niall's groan all the way from here. She wouldn't blame her. She quite wants to dunk herself into the Thames as it is. She looks up at the impatient stranger and is met with a raised eyebrow, which is expected, and so very bright blue eyes, which are not. 

Impatient Stranger is startlingly-- well, beautiful. Impatient Stranger has eyes which are kind of like—the sky when it wants to rain but isn't cloudy, and she has such pretty lips, and she is shorter than Harry, definitely, and curvy all over with a brown fringe that falls into her eyes as she looks down at Harry, still smack dab in the middle of the pavement. 

Impatient Stranger is Louis Tomlinson, BAFTA-winning director of Through the Dark, the BBC miniseries focusing on depression, international news of the summer and talk of the Emmys. Impatient Stranger is in London; Harry just read this morning, to begin filming on her new movie: Strong, about life as a closeted pop star in a boy band. Already causing controversy in six countries and counting. 

Impatient-- Louis Tomlinson, that is, looks a bit rueful. "I'm sorry, yeah?" she says. "Wasn't looking where I was going, I know, got you quite-- hard, big apology for that." 

She's smirking at the last few words, which kind of balances out the apology, but Harry kind of deserves that, having no proper working brain to mouth filter. And it's not unkind, the smirk, and she extends a hand. She's so very pretty that Harry forgets to be rude. 

"I'll just-- help you with this, then," Harry says, gesturing to the papers around them. 

"Oh," Louis Tomlinson says, "oh, okay." She bends down so she's eye-level with Harry. At this vantage point, the scoop neck of her jumper exposes a collarbone, too-tanned for the long winter. Harry bites her lip and looks at the ground. 

The papers that Harry's helping to pick up are quite obviously pages of a script, with Post-It notes everywhere, indecipherable messy handwriting littering the yellow. There are a lot of exclamation points and underlined capitals. 

"Is this the new movie?" Harry asks. 

Louis Tomlinson looks up at her, briefly surprised at the recognition, perhaps. "Yeah," she says. "Y'heard of it?" She rolls her eyes. "Who hasn't, you know." 

Harry smiles. "It's good that you're telling this story," she says. "People oughta know what's going on in the industry they adore so much." 

"People will call me a liar," says Louis. She shrugs, like what can you do, right. 

"I won't," says Harry. 

Louis Tomlinson accepts the shaft of papers Harry offers her, gets to her feet, and smiles. It's-- Harry hasn't seen that smile up close before, not in an interview, or on the red carpet. It's sort of-- blinding.  

"Thank you, good sir," she says, tipping an imaginary hat. "And sorry for, yeah-- Tripping over you and stuff. Say, what were you doing? Lost something?" 

"Was cheering him on," Harry says, gesturing at the tiny slice of green. 

Louis Tomlinson scrunches up her nose.  "What, the moss?" 

"Yeah," says Harry. "It's spring. People should know." 

Louis looks at her considering. "I s'pose they should," she muses. The corner of her mouth lifts in a slight curve. "Well. This was interesting, um--" 

"Harry." 

"Harry," says Louis Tomlinson. "I'm Louis." 

"Hello, Louis," Harry says politely. 

"I'm leaving now, Harry," Louis says. "You might want to get off the curb. Others don't have my superior reflexes." 

"Okay," Harry nods. "Bye bye, Louis." 

Louis tilts her head. "Goodbye," she says, and smiles again, suddenly, and she's walking off quickly, and the corner swallows her up. 

Harry boards the bus a few minutes later. She's sort of a little bit in love.

 

 

And-- okay. She could convince herself it was a spring-induced hay fever dream, but she can still feel the warm weight of solid compact girl tumbling into her side, and it's. 

Harry flops onto her bed. 

 "Hello," says Niall, flopping beside her. 

"You'll never guess who I met today," Harry mumbles into her pillow. 

"Agatha Christie," Niall guesses, wide-eyed. 

"No. What?" Harry says, turning her head. "No, isn't she--? Louis Tomlinson, Niall." 

Niall ponders this is silence for a second. "Oh," she says. "That director chick you like. The one who did that sad as fuck show where the kid saw the butterflies in the room!" 

"Yeaaah," Harry says. "Like, they got Hans Zimmer to do the opening score. It was gorgeous." 

"You're doin' that thing where you say random names again," Niall comments.  

"Never mind," Harry says. "Just. She's so fit, Ni. She’s so pretty and soft. I want to, like." 

"Eat her out?"  

"What? No." Harry groans and reaches out a hand to push at Niall. "Maybe, I'll never see her again, anyway. It's no use! A pipe dream, crushed. That is to say. Life.” 

"Quit complaining," Niall says comfortably. "You never know. Do we have any other films of hers t'watch tonight?" 

"I have Alive," Harry says. 

"The sex addiction one?" 

"Yeah. With Zayn Malik." 

"Goddamn, that girl," Niall says. "Why would you want to, like, cure her of having sex? It doesn't make sense." 

Niall orders pizza and Harry puts Alive on, and definitely does not feel a maybe-flutter-thrill when "directed by Louis Tomlinson" slides across the screen.  

The thing is, Louis is a brilliant director. She mixes metaphors into gritty real-life situations, and she has a habit of scenes that are shot so dreamily that you aren't sure whether that's blood until you see white skin slashed open, and she has a lot to say with one line of dialogue accompanied with an image that doesn't seem much until you think about it later and you just-- keep thinking.  

So when the movie's in its sixty-third minute and Zayn Malik is finally flipping out, realizing she does indeed have a Problem ("it's not a problem," moans Niall, "that face was made for sex, please."), getting help, seducing her therapist ("yeah, that's what I'm talking about!") and Harry's phone rings, Harry is quite annoyed. She digs her hand absently into the sofa cushions behind her for a bit and retrieves it.  

"'lo, Liam," she says. "We're watching your wife sex up her therapist."  

"Not my wife, stop that," Liam says. Harry can feel her blush through the line. "I have an offer for you." 

"Do tell," says Harry, munching on her stuffed crust and watching Zayn explain to her onscreen boyfriend that she's late because she's been working overtime, no big deal.  

"You're going to love this," Liam tells her. 

"Am I going to do the theme song for another animated movie about a superhero, then?" Harry says. "'Cause that's what happened the last time you said that." 

"No," says Liam. "And that was cool," she adds defensively.  

"Okay, that was cool," says Harry. It had been loud and bleary and swelling and a nice change, not the kind of music she did at all, but a nice change. 

"Yeah, I know," Liam huffs. "Anyway, they want you to do the music for Strong. Louis Tomlinson's Strong." 

"Louis Tomlinson's Strong?" Harry repeats blankly. 

"'s what I said, Harry," says Liam.  

"Pause that, Niall," gasps Harry, "my dreams are coming true." Niall pauses it agreeably, sympathetic to Harry's dreams coming true. 

"They want you on a set visit tomorrow. I'll text you the details. I know it's Louis Tomlinson, there's no need to keep repeating her name in my ear." 

"But Liam, why me?" says Harry. 

Liam sighs, and tells Harry, like she does every single time, because she's Liam and Harry really should get on buying her a lifetime of Zayn Malik for all the things she's done for her, "Because, surprising as it may sound, you are actually one of the most talented composers I've ever known, Harry Styles. Alright then?" 

"Meh," says Harry. "Love you, Li." 

She ends the call and jumps on Niall. 

 

"Ask Pez to show you around," says Paul the security guard. 

Harry looks around helplessly. "Who's Pez?" 

"I'm Pez," a girl says, appearing out from behind a trailer, all bleached-blonde hair and wide bright eyes.  "Hello, Harry. I'll show you to your own trailer and around the set then Louis wants to discuss stuff with you." 

Harry's trailer is, well. She's reminded all over again of how much a blockbuster Strong is set to be. It's comfortably furnished, with water bottles, a mini fridge, a sofa and a microwave. Harry's done movies before, but never as big. 

Pez shows her around the rest of the set so far-- fake house, green screens, makeshift stage. He points out the other trailers: George, Jaymi, JJ, Josh, Tom, Sylvie, and Zayn, who's in this movie too, apparently. Niall's going to love that. Harry should probably never let her visit. 

"So this is Louis'," says Pez, pausing in front of a red door, "if she's a total dick today ignore her, she's still pretty stressed that the script's not the exact insane way she wants it." 

"Thanks," says Harry. "Uh." 

"Don't worry," Pez says, grinning. "She'll be nice to you, I think. She likes your work a lot." 

He raps on the door and gestures Harry inside when Louis calls out, "Come in, then," and totally abandons her with a wink. 

Louis' trailer is messy already even though it’s only the first day of filming. Familiar-looking Post-It notes and scrunched up Kit Kat wrappers scattered everywhere.  

Louis is on the floor, red Sharpie in hand and hair half up but mostly tangled all over. She's wearing glasses, and there's chocolate on her grey sweater. 

She's gorgeous, is the thing. 

"Hi, Harry Styles, right?" she says without looking up, "We've got a copy of the script for you as soon as I've--" She waves a vague hand at what she's doing, and looks up. 

"Harry?" she says. 

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "Hi." She extends a hand, because it seems like good manners. 

"You're Harry Styles," she repeats, like Harry's lying. 

"I am?" asks Harry, which is probably doing no wonders for identity validation, but Louis has that thing which makes her want to re-evaluate everything. 

"I didn't recognize you yesterday," Louis says, still staring. "With the beanie. Wow." 

Harry frowns. "Why would you recognize me?"  

"I Googled you," Louis says unembarrassed. "Had to see what kind of composer I was hiring, right?"

"What came up?" asks Harry. 

"Hipster Instagram pictures, mostly," Louis says, scrunching up her nose. 

"Heeeeey," says Harry. She's proud of those shots, okay. It takes her, like, forty seven deleted pictures to get one right. 

"And drunken party snaps.  One or two good ones so I'm not sure how your beanie fooled me. Anyway, since we've met, I don't have to be nice, right?" 

"I suppose not," Harry says. "It'd be considered polite, though." 

"Nah. Come look at this scene." Louis waves a page in her direction. "It's too obvious, don't you think?" 

Harry goes over and takes it. It looks fine to her, honestly. It's where the main character gets a tattoo, a butterfly on his stomach. She can imagine the melody, actually, drifting inky sweet through the window on the cloudy London morning. 

"Would he do that, though?" Louis asks. "Or is it too obvious? Cliché? Sit down, you're so tall. We're going to have to work on that." 

Harry sits down obediently beside her, neatly placing away a stack of papers or two. Louis' knee brushes hers and Harry's skin sort of tingles.  

"Maybe it's cliché," Harry says, looking at the lines again. "But I think it'd be something he feels like he has to do, you know. Like his way of screaming when his voice is taken away." 

When she glances up, Louis is smiling at her. The curve of her mouth is no less intoxicating than yesterday, now with added proximity and less out-open air. "Okay then," she says. "I'll keep it in."

 

 

"Don't they mind?" asks Harry, as they step out of the trailer on their way to the set. Louis is typing something on her phone, and Harry doesn't know if she's listening but it's easy to talk, somehow. "The scriptwriters and the actors that you make come up with a lot of changes. They’re pretty late ones, too." 

Louis shrugs, pocketing the phone. "'s my movie, my rules," she says. "Script's ours now, and if the actors don't like it they can leave. Besides, I know most of these guys. It's-- this is a pretty big thing, my first really big thing. I wasn't going to call people I don't trust." She bites her lip. 

Harry considers this. "You don't know me, though." 

"Well, you're a gamble, Harry Styles," Louis says, poking at Harry's side. Harry eeps and squirms, altogether too ticklish and Louis looks delighted. "You're going to pay off, whether you like it or not." 

"That's. Well. Terrifying," Harry muses. 

Louis grins, and it feels like maybe, they've done this for years, when she slips an arm around Harry's waist and reaches up to kiss her cheek, cool as anything, never mind the skippy patter of Harry's heartbeat. She says, "I'll go easy on you, kid." 

Harry's cheeks are ridiculously warm. "I'm not a kid," is the first thing that comes to mind. Niall is going to laugh. 

"Yeah you are, you're three years younger," Louis says. "Told you I googled you. Even found your old kik! A thing of beauty. The selfies in the mirror were my favorite." 

"Shut up," Harry moans. 

Louis only cuddles her further in. They've reached the set, various people milling about, but she doesn't let go. 

"Everyone!" she announces, and so many eyes are focused on Harry and Louis suddenly, it's, er. "This is Harry Styles, our composer, and I hope you remember me from our little talk this morning!" 

A few of the younger-looking actors still look a bit traumatized. Harry wishes she'd been there. 

"So, read-through today, let's get to work," Louis says, making vague flapping motions with her hands. "Harry, you're getting food with me." 

"Okay," says Harry, although it doesn't seem like she has much of a choice.  

Everybody scuttles off to get things ready, but dark eyes and heels come up to Louis. Fuck. Niall's going to flip. Liam's going to flip. Harry is flipping.  

"Well. Aren't you going to introduce us?" asks Zayn Malik. 

Louis, who'd been looking at the egg tarts, sighs, "If you shut your trap." 

"I'm not saying anything," Zayn says. 

"What?" Harry asks. 

"What?" Louis says back. "It’s nothing. Harry, this is Zayn, Zayn, this is Harry. Zayn's my best friend when she's not completely apathetic towards my life." 

"Hi, Harry," says Zayn, smiling, "I've heard a lot."  

"No, you haven't," Harry says blankly. 

Zayn's grin intensifies. "Louis says you’re  a hidden gem." 

Harry frowns. "She what now?" 

"She also says--" 

"You have a scene to run through," Louis interrupts. "Leave. Wench." 

She pulls Harry away by the arm, and Harry's not sure when the manhandling got so comfortable, but god. Harry likes it very much. 

"Hold up, I gotta text Ni, that was great," Harry says. 

When she looks up, Louis looks almost disgruntled. "Zayn's hot." 

"Yeah, she is," Harry agrees cautiously, as does, well, the rest of the world. 

"Okay then," Louis says. "Work, then." She claps her hands together and heads into the direction of the various people milling about aimlessly. 

Harry frowns. She catches up with Louis, and bumps her shoulder with hers. 

Louis says, "That almost got my face, giant," even though it was nowhere near, so Harry is probably imagining things anyway. 

When the actors do their read through, Harry sits in her chair reading her own copy, different beats randomly popping into her head as she reads and half-listens. She scribbles them in the margins, early notes. Louis sits in front of her when she's not maniacally everywhere else, sometimes asking her opinion on a line, or just reaching out to poke, because Louis is very tactile, apparently, and it's a nice first day, it's very nice. 

"You got my number?" Louis asks, after she yells that it's a wrap for the day and turns to Harry. 

Harry's already comfortable enough to grin and say, "That's very forward of you." 

"Don't get smart, Styles," Louis scoffs. She stretches out a hand for Harry's phone. "It's for business, child." 

Later while eating Indian with Niall in front of Downton Abbey, Harry gets a text saying, "maaaan marys got gaaame this season". She nearly topples over into Niall's tandoori, grinning all the way.

 

 

Louis directing is-- well. She's magnetic, something Harry already knew from five seconds with her, but seeing it on display in front of a group of people solely paid to do her bidding, it's kind of mesmerizing. She thrives on it, Harry can tell. She can see why she's so good at it. The first real scene they start shooting, she's got control of everything, from the lighting to the jacket hem, a bundle of thrumming energy, shouting orders everywhere. 

The cast and crew adore her anyway, and Harry doesn't blame them. Harry's more than a little bit in love herself. 

It's just. She and Louis, not at work, they spend a lot of time texting. And there was that time on a Sunday Louis typed: ice cream????? To which Harry answered plEASE and now it's become a regular thing. And sometimes in the evenings, Harry goes to watch Louis play football with her mates, and it's sort of breathtaking, the intensity in Louis' eyes, before a kick, defined muscles under her footie shorts, and Louis’ skin sort of shines with sweat afterwards. And one time Harry went over to Louis' London flat-- which looks a lot like Harry's uni flat ("Why would I buy a new one? Please. This has character." "This has a door with one hinge.") And they stayed up watching Mission Impossibles and Bournes until they fell asleep, on the sofa, Louis' apple-scented hair in Harry's mouth when they woke up. Harry made breakfast, because Louis can't cook for nuts. So now she cooks for Louis a lot. It's-- Louis has to eat properly. They're friends. 

Late at night, Harry writes, high up on the rooftop of her and Niall's apartment building. Her thoughts are on the scenes, but when she composes, it's possibly to the beat of eyes that crinkle with laughter and the sound of a high, lilting pitch. It's maybe to the tune of soft brown hair brushing her cheek when there's a warm presence on her shoulder, the semi-quaver of the moment before Louis lifts her foot to kick the ball, winking at Harry in the sidelines as it curves a perfect arc to hit the back of the net. 

Thursday   night, their second month of filming, and Harry types: hey ok can ni and Liam cone by for filming tmr? totally ok if they can't, they've just been asking 

yeah man say they're with u  

Harry's actually really nervous, because sort of a lot is riding on whether Niall and Liam like Louis. It's really important, your friends approving of the very possible true love of your life. Harry might be in too deep, maybe. 

She needn't have worried. Niall says, "Louis, mate!" and claps Louis on the back and extracts a beer from under her sweatshirt. 

"What," says Louis, laughing. 

"How'd you get that past the guards," Liam sighs.

"Harry says you've been working yourself hard," Niall says. "Here's a pick me up. Li, I put it under my shirt. Duh." 

"You're wonderful," Louis decides.  

"You're good, Lou," Niall says, on her tiptoes, probably for a look at Zayn. 

Meeting Zayn goes less smoothly. 

Liam is tongue-tied, and Niall lays out an alternate ending to Alive, and Louis watches it all amusedly and offers Harry the beer. Harry wraps her lips around the bottle head, and watches Zayn try to get a word other than "Um," from Liam. But she can tell, anyway, this-- the five of them-- it's going to be something pretty great. 

When she passes it back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, Louis is staring. 

Harry-- looks back, and keeps looking, until Niall says, "What d'ya think, Harry?" and she blinks because Louis' gaze is still hot on her cheek, when she's being forced to give an opinion on the sex therapist's bloody fate. Like, literally bloody. There was blood.

 

 

"So, are we going out later?" Zayn asks, sashaying over behind the cameras, after the day's a wrap. 

"Um. We've got nothing planned," says Liam, who seems to have recovered from her inability to use words.  

"I'm in," Niall says. Harry nods. 

Louis bounds over, and Harry's enveloped in a lapful of apple-scent and ear-biting. "Hello, Harold. I missed you!" 

"Literally fifteen minutes ago," Harry hears Liam say in wonder, and Zayn's sound of agreement. 

"I missed you too," Harry says, laughing. "Zayn was inviting us out." 

"Zayn didn't invite me out," sighs Louis, in tones of great sadness. 

"Idiot. We're going out later, Lou," Zayn says slowly, enunciating all the syllables, "Wanna come with?" 

"Y'going?" asks Louis. Her breath is warm in Harry's ear. Harry nods again. 

"Of course, Zaynie poo," says Louis.

 

 

Harry is quite drunk. She thinks. She isn't sure. She lost count after the fifth vodka shot. Liam's usually her alcohol conscience, but Liam's drunk on Zayn tonight. Zayn and her smoky eyes and her swirling skin, spinning like the ceiling.  

She's lost Louis for a bit, which might explain why the ceiling's spinning. Lost Louis to the dance floor, where so many other lithe perfect bodies are pressed up against her, soaking in the magnetic pull of Louis Tomlinson, her scent and smile and surrealism. Harry moans. "Niall." 

"Yeah, mate," Niall says, all solid and dependable, somewhere beside her." 

"You're solid, Ni," Harry says. "Solid-- like a bear. Like... like Brother Bear." 

"Tha's me," Niall agrees. "Brother Niall." 

Harry hiccups. "Ni, Ni. There are too many bodies. All against... no. Am sad. Am very--" 

"I know, bud," Niall says, patting Harry's hair comfortingly. "Is okay." 

"I just, y'know? So soft, and want. Love." 

"I know, Haz," Niall soothes. "I know." 

"S wrong?" says an entirely different voice. Harry lifts herself from the table and falls into the voice's direction. "Lou!! My-- my. My Lou." 

"Yeah, your Lou," Louis smile-says, steadying her against her shoulder. "Y'okay there, love?" 

Harry opens her mouth to say “Perfectly”, but decides upon, "Might want to-- spinny," and that's all she remembers of the night.

 

 

The next morning she wakes up curled around a lot of familiar, sleeping girl, and the hangover doesn't feel so bad. 

"Liam," she says later, because Liam is wise and knows a great deal, "What happened last night?" 

"By the time we got back, Louis had put you to bed," Liam says. "You threw up a bit in the toilet, managed to hit the bowl. Good one." 

"She didn't leave?" Harry says, more for verbal confirmation to her than anything. 

"You know she didn't," says Liam. 

Harry sinks heavily down onto the carpet. "Liam, I. I may be a bit of, a lot. In love." 

"Yes, I know," Liam says. "Get up, I'm vacuuming." 

"So what should I do?" Harry asks desperately. 

Liam shrugs. "Tell her, obviously," she says, like it's nothing. Harry takes it back, so not wise, not at all. 

She asks Zayn next, because Zayn knows Louis, and Harry wants to know. 

"Course you got a chance," says Zayn, rolling her eyes. "First day you came to set, she texted me, like, hot girl I told you bumped into me yesterday is film composer. Exclamation mark, exclamation mark, exclamation mark. That's why she was so “Shut up, Zayn”, when I met you." 

Harry processes this information, and doesn't know what to do with it at all. It's-- it's. 

"What should I do?"  

Zayn sighs. "Tell her, of course," she says. And that's no help, either.

 

 

It's only three weeks more until filming wraps and Harry is crossing out, again, the notes to Scene VII, which she can't quite get to flow perfectly, when she gets a call. 

"Hey, Lou," she says.  

"It's late, I know," Louis says. "I'm." There's a pause. "Can I come over?" 

"Yeah, course." Harry bites her lip. "Lou? You okay?" 

Harry can hear her exhale through the line. "I'm outside." 

"Okay, yeah," Harry says, and bounds downstairs.

Louis is sitting outside the door when she arrives. "Thought you might be writing," she says. She's shivering, dressed in a thin grey Marvel t-shirt and loose red pants, only a hoodie on, like she couldn't sleep and decided to walk to Harry's apartment. She has circles under her eyes, almost bruises. Harry hasn't seen her in only two days but she looks exhausted. She’s still so very lovely, even exhausted. 

Harry sinks down next to her. Louis leans her head on her shoulder and they stay like that for a while. Louis breathes, and Harry breathes with her. 

"I'm just," Louis says, quietly, eventually, "this might make or break it for me, maybe. It's not a war movie, like Katherine's, and it's-- well, three countries have it banned already. Granted, for the general sin of homosexuality, but I couldn't sleep, and it seemed like an indicator. This is so-- Haz. It might be a big flop. I'm-- yeah. I'm terrified." 

Harry shifts and shuffles around a bit so she's facing Louis, and opens her arms. Louis falls into them, easy.  

"D'you wanna hear some of the scores?" Harry asks. Usually she's got this thing, about people not listening to her work until it's perfect, but she wants to, tonight. She wants to show Louis. 

Louis lifts her head, says, "Please." 

So they go in, and Harry settles behind the piano and plays the music for the scene where the main character comes out, on national television, when he's clenching his fists and thinking about bravery and the fake date he's got in his car and the boy at home waiting for him. 

When she's done, Louis' head is lowered, forearms on the wood of the piano. 

"Was it--" says Harry, suddenly nervous. 

"If my movie turns out a flop, Harry Styles," says Louis, looking up, "at least people will listen to its soundtrack, and be forever indebted to me for your music." 

Harry thinks she could kiss her if she wanted to, thinks that maybe Louis would open up for her, love her back, tonight, at least, but she doesn't. It's not tonight. Tonight is this. 

She looks down at the keys, and plays the music she composed for Louis.

 

 

The last day of filming isn't exactly the last day; of course there is still a shit ton of editing to do and Harry still has at least two weeks more to work on the score, now she's finished with the spotting, but this is the last day the actors and crew will all be here on set, working together. Even Niall and Liam are here, having visited and familiarized themselves with the set too much than is appropriate, thanks to Louis, and it's nostalgic, really. They all know each other by now. 

There's a lot of food, and some beer, and it's sort of sad, but mostly nice. Harry says bye to Pez and the cast, and they hug her and tell her to look after Tommo, which makes her blush horribly and try to wriggle out of their grasp. They're not having any of it. Harry's hair is ridiculous and her clothes are rucked up by the time Louis rescues her from Pez and her crew. 

They light up a bonfire as the evening drifts into night, and people set off for home, tired, saying their goodbyes, telling each other they'll keep in touch, see each other at the premiere. The five of them are left curled up in blankets around the fire, moon hanging dreamy in the sky. Louis' leg is tangled with Harry's. 

"Do any of you actually know how to put this out?" Zayn asks. 

"No," Louis says. 

"Brilliant. Why'd you tell Paul you could, then?" 

"Because we can," Louis says. "We've got Payno."

"Payno's half-asleep," Zayn says. Her voice is fond. 

"'m still awake," Liam insists, vowels rounded out and sated. 

"It's going to rain, that'll put it out," Niall announces. 

They look up at the cloudless sky. 

"No it's not, you dumbass," says Louis. 

"I can taste it," Niall pronounces. "On my tongue." 

"Your tongue's just numb after that mixture of jalapeño and cheese." 

"You doubt," Niall says serenely. 

"Ten bucks says it doesn't," says Liam. 

Louis snuggles into Harry, mumbles quietly: "Hey. Hey, Haz." 

"Hi Lou," Harry whispers. 

"Why are you whispering?" hisses Louis. 

"You were speaking soft!" Harry says. 

"You're ridiculous," Louis says, and suddenly she's hovering over Harry, propped up on one elbow. 

Harry exhales, and watches Louis mimic the action. Far away, she can hear someone-- Zayn, maybe, groan something about PDA. 

Louis is very close. Harry could just reach up and-- 

Louis bends down and presses her mouth to Harry's, and there's a swooping, soaring score inside Harry's head, violins and wings and the little gasping noise Louis makes when Harry licks into her mouth. 

There's a loud crash of thunder, and Harry can only register Niall's satisfied, "Ten bucks, Liaaam!" before they're scrambling to their feet, Harry's hand in Louis', racing for cover, and Louis is pressing Harry up against the wall of her trailer, kissing her breathless, sliding warm, wonderful fingers up her damp shirt, playing the music inside Harry's veins.

 

 

so i'll pick u up later?? 

DO WE GET A LIMO 

we get a limo styles 

YESS 

Harry looks-- okay, if she does say so herself. Her hair is an artfully arranged mess of curls, thanks to Lou, who'd stopped by earlier, and she's got a sort of Grecian flower crown threaded through it. She's wearing a barebacked green dress, one that opens around her leg and would swirl and lift if she felt like dancing. Lou's put glittery eye shadow on, and Harry likes it. It sparkles. 

Liam and Niall are going to the premiere too, and Liam's lovely in a '20s dress, neatly-pressed skirt and straight lines. Niall is wearing something akin to a tux, except cut to fit her body, her blonde hair down and her Converse on. Liam surveys them all critically in the mirror and nods. 

Louis is waiting outside, against a sleek limousine, and Harry has to stop to take a breath. 

Her dress is red and her hair is curled and she looks like Hollywood royalty, like she should be in all the movies she makes, like the Louis Harry has been dreaming about so many nights for so many months, waiting there in front of Harry's apartment building. She's kind of stuck between being unable to move and wanting to run to Louis, touch her to make sure she's actually real. She moves slower than she really wants to. She might fall in these heels. Louis is so bright; she's illuminating the entire street.  

"Hello," Harry says. She's suddenly shy, almost. "You're so gorgeous, Lou." 

"I know," Louis says, laughing a bit, in the way she does when anyone compliments her. Laugh it off, that is. At least she doesn't accompany it with a snarky remark tonight. She does that little head tilt she does when she's contemplating Harry, and says: "The green brings out your eyes." 

"Yeah?" Harry says, sort of dumbly. 

"Yeah." and Louis touches the back of her hand to Harry's cheek, just-- looks at her. "Yeah, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

 

 

Harry might be slightly biased, but Strong is one of the best movies she's seen in her life. The score gels well with the movie, too, it sounds okay, but she's already made sure of that, and the movie is just— it's brilliant. She leans over and tells Louis that halfway through. 

Louis tightens the grip she has on Harry's fingers and whispers back, "You're biased, love," but the audiences who stand up to applaud when the credits start rolling don't seem to think so.

 

 

The movie sort of explodes. Audiences come in droves to see what the controversy's all about. Critics are always a mixed bag, but on the whole, they view Strong as a "painfully honest story, vital and groundbreaking in its simplicity. And it all points to beautiful directing." 

Harry puts down the paper. "Well. Nothing I didn't already know." 

Louis, on the laptop across from her, rolls her eyes. "Let's see, 'The film score toys with the mind and emotions all the time and the small subtleties is the thing that affects one long after the last key is played. Both epic and Zen, Something Great is a perfect, ageless complement to the movie. Styles and Tomlinson are a dream team." 

She smiles up at Harry, fond, tapping her spoon absently against the keyboard. It's no less breathtaking than it was, so many months ago. "Kiss me," she demands. 

So, the music's pretty good too, apparently. The soundtrack hits number one on all the important charts and people actually stop on the streets and recognize Harry, once or twice, or more. 

"What's all the interest?" she asks Liam one morning. Zayn's in the kitchen, making eggs for Niall. Louis is still sleeping. Harry is going back to join her in a few, but the telly's on and there are pap pictures of Louis and her on E!, and why. "We're not actors, or anything." 

"You're young and attractive and talented," Liam shrugs, "and also they think you and Louis are in a secret relationship. This makes you two all the more interesting.” 

"Hmph," says Harry. "We really are, though," she adds, grinning ridiculously. Louis will wake up soon, and reach for her, sleepy, and realize she's not there. Louis will pout, and stumble barefoot out of Harry's bedroom, in one of Harry's oversized flannel shirts looking for Harry. And part of her wants them all to see that, Louis so obviously claimed as hers. But that would mean Louis waking up alone.  

"You are," Liam agrees, as though she's reading's Harry train of thought. 

She lifts the cup of tea she's holding in her right hand in salute to Liam, and makes her way back to her girl. 

Later in the day, The Academy nominates Strong for Best Picture and Best Original Score.

 

 

The Oscars are a glittery, razzle-dazzle fest, but what Harry will remember most is going up onstage to receive her little golden man, and thanking her mom, her sister, Ni and Liam, the crew, and mostly, her beautiful girlfriend, Louis, who was the inspiration for every note. 

The spotlights are bright, but Louis' eyes shine more as the camera zooms onto her and she smiles up at Harry and mouths, Dumbass. 

She wins her award too. ("And to my always loving and supportive partner, who stuck by me at four in the morning when I raged out on everything. I am very, very lucky." Subtler than Harry, but they zoom into Harry's blush anyway, and the room collectively awws, and that's how they come out.  

(The papers call them Larry Stylinson the next morning. Harry frowns, says: "Larry? Eh. Lourry. Lourry is nice. What d'you think, Liam?" 

"I think the pancakes are smoking," says Liam.  

"Eyes on breakfast, Styles," Niall orders. 

"I call dibs on the one not charred," says Zayn, not looking up from her phone. 

"Y'can't, I was here first," Niall says. 

"I called dibs first," Zayn scoffs. 

"Morning, babe," Harry says, going over and pressing a kiss to Louis' ear as she stumbles onto a chair. "Larry or Lourry?" 

"Houis," Louis mumbles into her arms, just to be contrary, because it's early. Harry gives her the uncharred pancake anyway, ignoring the protests of special treatment and unfair play. 

Zayn loses out for Best Supporting Actress to Meryl Streep, but the photos taken of her fill half the newspapers the next morning. She rolls her eyes, and says, "Next one, then.") 

They go to an after party, but Harry pleads out early, Louis' eyes dark, following her all night. They scrabble in the limo, Louis' hand dipping under her dress, reaching higher, higher up. 

Harry gasps, and it's loud in the sleek silence of the car. 

"You're, you're beautiful," she tells Louis again in their bedroom, Louis mouthing at her neck, laving over her skin. "You-- I, Louis. I love you, oh, please, oh." 

Louis looks up, hair brushing Harry's breast--  

"You're everything," she says, simply, and kisses Harry then, sweet and soft. 

Later, they watch the videos taken on the red carpet, still a bit dizzy with the night, with the moonlight glinting off their fucking Oscars in Louis' shitty apartment. 

"You do talk a lot of shit in interviews," Louis laughs, watching Harry trying to tell a story about mountains, or something. Harry doesn't quite remember. 

Harry pouts. "I'm trying to answer the question. They can always cut me off." 

"They'd never cut you off," Louis says. "The cameras love you." She quirks her mouth up at Harry then. "Very much," she says, softer. 

"Yeah?" Harry asks, blinking besotted. She's besotted, and it's wonderful. 

"Can't imagine why," Louis says, elbowing Harry in the side as onscreen Harry starts on another long-winded story about bakeries, "but yeah."

 

 

Autumn arrives, and Louis is given the script to another movie, based on a book she's loved from childhood; Birdsong, filming in the Cannes. Harry's offered an indie flick in New York.

"I could go to France with you," Harry suggests.

Louis cuffs the back of her head absentmindedly, staring at the script. "Or you could go to America and do this film that looks a lot like the sort of hipster thing you love."

"It's three months," says Harry.

"That's why they invented private jets," Louis reminds her. She rolls onto her side and looks at Harry. "We're celebrities now, remember. We're lavish and extravagant."

She tucks a curl behind Harry's ear. "I know you have to do this," she says. "I also have faith. I have faith in us."

Harry leans forward to kiss the corner of her mouth. Limned in early morning sun, Louis is brighter than the all the lights in New York City.

The British papers run articles like: Early Split for Larry Stylinson? accompanied with photos of Louis boarding the plane to France and Harry at the NY airport. Louis isn't taking Harry with her this time, E!News bemoans. We loved this beautiful relationship, Sugarcandy sighs. Why'd it have to come to this?

Louis SnapChats Harry a snap of Cannes from her bedroom window, with the caption: i want to hear you moan in french, oui

Harry sends her a picture of a tattoo design of two birds: y/y?

Louis texts, it's weird to not be bangin my composer 

Harry emojis back a string of senseless sad frog faces.

Louis sends a link to the Wikipedia page of the 61 year old man who's doing the music for Birdsong. Harry feels ridiculously better.

Zayn visits Harry in New York on her way back from Beijing, to London. "Might stay with Li for a bit," she says, like she doesn't have a lavish home with two garages.

Louis spends her week -long break in Harry's hotel room tracing the inky outline of sparrows with her tongue.

Harry decides to finish up the rest of the soundtrack outside a trailer in Cannes. She's on the grass, soaking up the sunlight, when somebody clears their throat in front of her.

"What're you doing here, blocking the way," Louis says. "Somebody might trip and fall over you."

It's the first day of winter, and when Harry looks up, Louis is wrapped in Harry's green jacket, the one she missed in New York.

"It's lucky you've got such great reflexes then," Harry says.

The snow is falling when Louis asks Harry to marry her. Frost beginning to blanket the earth in white, and it's okay, they're just taking a well-deserved nap, and it's not cold at all when Harry jumps into Louis' arms, knocking them both to the ground, and murmurs, "Yes, yes," into her ear.

:::

"There you are, sir. There's nothing more than to love and be loved."  
-Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong

:::


End file.
